My dear one,
I’m sorry. I find myself wishing I could express it more profoundly, more creatively. I say it often—every day, in fact—for countless little reasons: when you stumble on the playground, when I forget to bring your favorite snack, or when I have to refuse your request for a toy. Beneath these everyday apologies, there exists a deeper sorrow. I’m sorry that right now there are only two arms to hold you. I’m sorry it’s just me here. I’m so, so sorry.
I always envisioned more for you. You deserve a picture-perfect family—mom, dad, and child—like the families we often see during our outings. Instead, we navigate this journey on our own two legs, feeling like we could topple over at any moment.
I’ve faced challenges, but the hardest parts are fading like a scar turning silver instead of an angry red. These losses now feel less like burdens and more like new opportunities emerging. I’m slowly shedding the weight on my shoulders and can feel a quiet happiness blooming.
Yet, you will carry some losses with you throughout your life. Regardless of which parent you’re with, you may always feel the absence of the other. You will grow up experiencing half of your family at any given time. No matter how much I try to rationalize it, this truth remains unchanged: you are the one who bears the greatest loss. Just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes, and I can never apologize enough for contributing to that void.
A few weeks back, as we walked to the park hand in hand under the warm sun, you asked me about your siblings. In that moment, tears welled in my eyes, and I felt that familiar tightness in my throat. How can I explain to you that you won’t have full siblings? That you may not have any siblings at all? I won’t have another baby who resembles you.
Every day, I practice letting go of these unrealized dreams, watching them slip through my fingers like grains of sand. I strive to build something strong enough to fill that space. I will need to help you do the same one day, accepting the losses that you don’t yet realize are there. As your awareness of the world expands, I will be tasked with answering your questions about siblings, why you have two homes, and why your parents live in different places.
I must learn to provide you with answers without choking on the weight of a loss that feels unexplainable.
You are so bright, my sweet child. Your laughter, your kindness, and your curious spirit are my greatest treasures. You are intelligent and incredibly caring, proclaiming someone your “best friend” after just a few moments. I have no doubts you will flourish—you’re not just going to be okay; you will thrive. You are surrounded by love, and I know you feel that. Many children find themselves in similar situations, and you will not be alone.
While this story may not be unique, it’s one I never anticipated for myself or for you. When I first held you in my arms, I could never have imagined this path.
As you snuggle up to me at night, as I pack your bags, and when you cry at the thought of leaving, I’m reminded of how hard it is. When you ask if I’m coming with you and I can see the confusion in your eyes, I feel the weight of an explanation I can’t yet provide. I can’t apologize enough.
I wish for us to grow strong despite the distance. I hope our family can stand firmly on three legs, even if they are a bit further apart than most. I want this life to feel whole for you. I yearn for us to be more than just parts of a family, and someday, I hope to release this gnawing guilt that shadows me.
I hope that one day, goodbyes will become easier, and this life will feel more normal and less like a patchwork family. I genuinely wish for you to have siblings. If not, I hope you can create bonds with friends, cousins, and the wonderful array of aunts and uncles in your life.
You are okay, my darling. When you wake from nightmares, I rub your back, repeating that mantra. I watch as your breathing steadies, the soft glow of the night light illuminating your peaceful face, and I wish with all my heart for your happiness.
I’m sorry… I hope… you’re okay…